


Heart to Heart

by onlybritainisgreat (frecklesarechocolate)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:12:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frecklesarechocolate/pseuds/onlybritainisgreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean, just turned 70, has one regret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart to Heart

Dean Winchester didn't really do regrets.

He didn't think about the things that could have been, not really, because there was so fucking much in his life that "could have been." Why spend time focusing on it when all that would happen was that he would end up trying to find the bottom of a case of Jim Beam?

So the driving force behind Dean's approach to life was that it was probably best to just move on and not think about the things that he left behind, the things he messed up, and the chances he didn't take because frankly that way lay madness.

But.

There really was one thing that Dean did end up regretting, and he regretted it for most of his life.

It surprised Dean to wake up one morning and realize that not only had he survived much longer than any hunter, particularly a Winchester, had any business surviving, but that he had actually just turned 70 years old.

He heaved himself up out of the somewhat comfortable bed on which he had been laying his head for the last fifteen years and realized that it might actually be time to consider getting a new mattress. Replacing stuff that wasn't car parts or weaponry was an alien concept to Dean. And yet there it was.

Examining himself in the mirror, noting the cragged lines in his face, the slight yellowish tint to the whites of his eyes, the whiteness of his hair, he was startled to see that he was actually old. He'd never really considered it before, not really, but there the evidence was, staring him in the mirror.

His reflexes were definitely not what they had been when he was in his 30s, he was nowhere near as fast as he'd been, his vision was poor and he sometimes couldn't hear people if they weren't looking right at him when they talked.

Not that Dean really gave a shit about any of it, because let's be real about this, the fact that he was old at all? Kind of amazing.

But turning 70 made Dean realize that despite all the good he had done in the world, all the people he had helped, how awesome Sammy had turned out (in spite all the crap), there was still one part of his life that he had never quite gotten right. There was that one thing that he'd never quite gotten when he had the chance to, and so now Dean had regrets.

He had a huge hole in his soul, in his existence, and that hole had been there for a very, very long time.

Dean braced himself on the edge of the sink as he thought back to the last time... It had been almost thirty years ago since he'd last seen Castiel, and on reflection, those thirty years had been very lonely. The hole in Dean's soul was Castiel-shaped, and Dean nearly wept to think that he'd wasted all the intervening years because he couldn't get his head around what he had right in front of him, because he couldn't get his own shit together.

It wasn't about vessels, or male or female or any of that shit. It was heart to heart, mind to mind and soul to grace.

And he'd thrown it all away because he was chicken shit. Because he was a moron, and because he hadn’t understood. Not at the time.

More evidence that Dean Winchester was 90% crap.

Dean sighed and turned on the water in the sink, splashing some of it on his face to relieve the stinging and burning of unshed tears. He brushed his teeth and counted out the six pills he had to take that morning. There would be another two at lunchtime and an additional three at dinner.

Awesome.

His days were essentially spent getting from one set of medications to the next. Breakfast included heart and cholesterol medicine, plus vitamins. Lunch included blood pressure and arthritis medication. He didn't remember what the dinner pills were (was one of them to help his memory? He didn't fucking know), but he knew that he had to take them.

Doctors' orders.

Never mind that the fucking doctors were all probably half his age, barely out of med school and probably still covered in the greasy acne of adolescence.

Dean trudged out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. Despite all the medications, he hadn't changed his eating habits all that much over the years, just added on the medication and subtracted the diners. He still ate bacon and sausage and pancakes and cheeseburgers and fries and all the pie he could get his hands on, but now he took all the pills to try to counteract the all the crap in his diet.

Dean figured that if he'd made it this far, he might as well enjoy what he ate, because this particular Winchester was living on borrowed time. Plus no one was around to nag him about eating better anyway. Sam still did that when they hung out together, but since Sam and Amelia lived a state away and spent time with their kids and the grandbaby, that didn't happen all that much.

For some reason, though, Dean wasn't very hungry today. He wasn't especially worried about that, figuring that his appetite would return sooner or later. It always did.

This was also an excuse not to take his pills, as most of them had to be "taken with food".

Rather than sit at the breakfast table and waste food, Dean didn't bother making anything to eat, instead he shuffled out to the postage stamp back yard that was connected to his apartment and he sat down on the bench that was just outside his backdoor.

It was pretty cold out, but that didn't bother him too much.

As he sat, he poked around at the Castiel shaped hole inside, wondering why he was thinking about this now. What had made him think about the angel, that messy dark hair and the stupid trench coat and the messed up tie and those startling blue eyes?

He wasn't sure, but each time he focused on Castiel, a sharp ache filled him, so strong and large that he could barely breathe for it.

Briefly, Dean wondered if his contemplation of this particular regret was because his number was up - last thoughts and all that, but he dismissed the thought almost as soon as he'd had it.

He'd long ago given up trying to make those kinds of connections. It always ended badly.

Dean thought back to the day, that one day that he now regretted more than anything else in the world, and wondered if there had been the chance of it ending any differently than it had.

He didn't think so.

Cas had dropped in, as he usually did, but there was something different about this particular visit. He'd seemed distracted, fidgety, and finally Dean snapped at him and demanded to know what the hell was going on with the angel.

Cas admitted that he'd been given an ultimatum by “the powers that be” up in heaven. He could stay on earth, but would have to become human, or he would have to return to heaven, permanently.

His announcement had stunned Dean into a shocked silence. He'd not known how to react or what to say. He had only stared open-mouthed at Cas, who stood fiddling with the end of his tie.

After a long uncomfortable silence, Cas had looked at Dean, eyes wide and rimmed slightly with red and asked Dean what he thought Cas should do. Ever the soldier, even after all that he had learned about free will, Cas still needed someone to tell him what to do.

Or so Dean had thought at the time.

All these years later, Dean realized that Cas was not asking Dean what he thought Cas should do. Cas had actually been asking Dean what Dean wanted.

Only Dean hadn't understood that.

All he'd understood was that yet another person he cared about was going to leave him.

Dean had responded in his usual manner. "How the fuck should I know, Cas? It's your decision!"

Cas had not stayed for very long after that, and Dean had never seen him again.

Dean grunted irritably and returned back inside to the warmth of the living room, the January chill finally too much for him. He settled into his favorite chair and popped out the footrest, reclining as far back as he could go. It was time for the morning snooze, which would be followed by a short walk around the development.

Dean awoke with a start later, a little less than an hour or so after he'd drifted off. He wasn't sure what had woken him, since he usually dozed for an hour and a half in the late mornings, especially in the winter. He shrugged it off and lowered the footrest, preparing to go out, even if it was a little earlier than expected.

Perhaps the younger neighbor was out watering her flowers. He could toss a flirt her way and see if she was interested in dinner later on. (Younger in this case was relative - she'd just retired six months ago.)

On the other hand, his morning melancholia hadn't been wiped away by his nap, and he was still feeling that regret, that Castiel sized hole. He probably wouldn't be able to muster a decent enough line, let alone a grin for the young retiree. He thrust his arms into his jacket, muttering to himself as he did. When he turned to open the front door, he slammed into what felt like a wall, but was in actuality a person-shaped and sized barrier between him and the entrance to his tiny apartment.

"What the --" Dean stepped back and looked up to see a beige trench coat, mussed up hair and a stupid crooked tie, capped off by stupid bright blue eyes. "Cas?"

A small smile played on the other man's lips, a face that hadn't changed in over thirty years, one that Dean had ached to see every day since the last time he'd spoken to the angel, and it was all Dean could do not to launch himself toward Cas. It was almost as if his musings and regret had summoned the angel. 

"Hello, Dean."

It was the same voice, the same low growl that Dean sometimes still heard in his dreams, and something in Dean snapped. As if the sound had turned a switch in him, Dean reached forward and grabbed the crooked tie and pulled Cas toward him, enfolding the angel in his arms. He pressed his lips to Castiel’s, and kissed his angel.

Dean could sense the smile that grew on Castiel’s lips as Cas returned the kiss, and after all these years, all the times that Dean had thought about this moment, thought about being able to finally kiss Cas and tell Cas what he had wanted to say, what he’d meant to say all those years ago, this was still infinitely better. It was soft and deep and just right and it was home.

Dean finally pulled away from Cas. They stood, grinning at each other, and Dean finally got to say what he should have said all those years ago. “Don’t ever leave. Stay.”


End file.
